Only For You
by Madame Zephyrus
Summary: It’s Christmas and Harry is mad. No, he is more than mad. He can only take being ignored for so long before he blows his top. DMHP one shot. Not DH compliant.


"_Only For You_" By: Madame Zephyrus

**Pairing**: DM/HP

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: It's Christmas and Harry is mad. No, he is more than mad. He can only take being ignored for so long before he blows hit top. DM/HP Not DH compliant.

**Warning**: Slash, cursing, and extreme OOC-ness for I am no JKR, un-betaed.

**Disclaimer**:_ This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

* * *

Harry clamored down the dormitory stairs loudly. 'Who's here to even give a fuck?' he asked himself as he kicked a first year's potion book across the floor. Immediately, he regretted that action. 

"Fuck!" he cursed out-loud as he held his right foot and hopped over to the nearest arm chair to lean against.

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" asked a portrait of a portly looking man in eighteenth century attire on the wall near to where the book had stopped.

"Mind your own damn business would ya?" Harry grumbled, but loud enough for the man to hear.

"Apparently what ever it is also caused you to have a less than honourable attitude as well. Hm, never mind then, I'll leave; oh, and Happy Christmas." The portrait answered sweet enough to put sucrose to shame.

Harry chucked a book toward the voice without even looking up from his throbbing toe.

The painting stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at the overemotional young man, finally leaving the painting all together to possibly find someone worth conversing with.

The Boy Who Lived responded by falling back into the seat of the chair with a _thunk._

"I'm so unpleasant a bloody portrait won't even stay around me." Harry sighed as his anger deflated. What was wrong with him? So what if he cursed at everything that moved or had a sarcastic remark for anything anyone said? He was a pessimist now; what was so great about being optimistic? It didn't make him a bad person to be around, it just made him—

Malfoy.

Harry groaned and covered his face with the one had that hadn't been massaging his aching toe. This is the exact same thinking that had him in this state to begin with!

It was Harry's last Christmas at Hogwarts, and he was spending it there—alone. No one had wanted to stay, not one of his friends.

"Friends," Harry snorted to himself. "Some friends they are. They have no idea what it's like. No idea," he ended quietly.

The final battle had left Harry Potter extremely bitter. The loss of so man close people had affected his psyche greatly what with the loss of Remus, Tonks, Moody, Colin, Hagrid, Fred and George, Ginny, then finally Ron, not to mention his countless other friends, acquaintances, soldiers, or just unlucky by-standers. Harry had just about lost faith in humanity.

He was a shell of the boy he used to be, he rarely spoke to Hermione let alone anyone else, and there were those who tried. You could find Seamus Finnigan on any given day badgering Harry about everything and anything. Harry however would sit there and stare off into space until the talkative Irish man gave up. Cormac McLaggen would also try to bring quidditch up every so often but Harry didn't even spare him a glance.

The only person who Harry seemed to deem worthy enough to have a conversation with (other than Hermione, and that was on the rarest of days) was Draco Malfoy. Surprisingly enough Draco had admitted that his father had chosen the wrong side, even if he had been forced to as well. He had also decided that he wanted to be a part of the light side as an undercover Death Eater (he had gotten the idea from Severus when he went to him with his revelation).

During the war the two boys had forged a strange, but close friendship that even Ron and Hermione didn't understand. They had been sent out on many a mission together by feeding off each others knowledge. It worked out well – once they put their differences behind them and formed their unique closeness.

Now that they had come back to Hogwarts for their seventh year, the boys didn't really talk much. Once in a while they would meet up in the library to catch up, rather Harry would do most of the talking and Draco would listen. Once in a while, if Harry was lucky he could make the other boy give him a small smile. But most times he would give up because Draco would shut down and become unresponsive. This in turn frustrated Harry. Especially after the close bond they had shared.

This is what led to Harry's current mood. He hadn't talked to the blond boy in weeks. He strived for contact from his friend but he was no where to be found. He would see Draco in classes, but whenever he would attempt to get the blond's attention he would ignore him or, if Harry tired to see him after class, he would simply disappear.

"Slimy git," Harry muttered to himself as he rubbed his temples.

He had finally been through enough weeks of silence to realize _why_ he missed the stupid git so much. He had unknowingly fallen in love with the blond. It came as a shock to Harry too when he first had his epiphany. In fact, he barely eaten or slept in the past two weeks since the realization.

Now, Harry had recognized that the only thing he had wanted for Christmas this year had been Draco.

The exasperated boy shook his head angrily. 'No, no, no, no, no, no! It was _not _supposed to be like this!' He wasn't sure what 'It' was exactly, but he knew how it should and shouldn't be.

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed, seeming to give up. He didn't even know if the blond boy was staying in the castle right now; he didn't know if anyone was left in the castle _period._

So what was that incessant knocking sound? Harry glanced at the windows; there weren't any owls outside of them, not that he was expecting one anything. That left. . .

"The portrait hole," Harry whispered to the empty common room.

Suddenly the new sound voice in his head made his thoughts known. 'It's probably just the Headmistress coming to check up on you, again.' The voice was snarky and malicious, although Harry did have to agree with it. 'No one remembers the poor Boy-Who-Lived-To-Save-Their-Asses, unless they need something. So go on, go see what the world wants the great and mighty Harry Potter to do for them now!' The voice was not doing anything to help with the dark-haired boy's temper, so by the time he reached the portrait hole he was positively fuming, again.

With a forceful heave he swung the portrait open and let it hit the wall with an impressive '_bang_'. It was a good thing the Fat Lady hadn't been there because her shrieks would have given Harry a splitting headache.

Instead the aforementioned boy's jaw was hitting the floor. Standing before him was not the Headmistress from his pessimistic musings, but the blond boy he couldn't seem to stop thinking about; one, Draco Malfoy.

Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow at Harry's antics, and Harry had the decency to flush slightly at his overreaction. The Slytherin was the epitome of cool as he stepped past Harry and moved into the gold and red common room without a backward glance.

Harry stood there a moment, not fully taking everything in.

"Well are you going to stand there with your mouth open all night or go see what the boy was going to tell you?" Asked a portrait of an elderly woman across the hall.

What was the bloody deal with every single portrait in the castle having to _talk_ to him tonight?! The poor boy was slowly becoming agitated all over again.

Steeling himself, Harry closed the portrait hole without the theatrics and made his way to the armchair across from where Draco had taken a seat.

The blond boy didn't say anything but chose to instead stare at Harry intently. Harry fidgeted under the heavy gaze. He tired to look around the room, anywhere but Draco, but he was failing miserably. Those gray, illustrious eyes were like magnets.

But wait a minute, this was Harry's turf. What gave Draco the right to barge in here, not even saying a word, and make Harry feel like this?

Harry was seething. _Again._ Even worse, it was as if Draco would tell because he raised another unimpressed eyebrow at Harry whose hands were fisted tightly on the arms of the chair. "Did you _need_ something Malfoy?" Harry bit out slowly.

Draco merely shrugged and turned his gaze to the fireplace.

'_What?!_' The voice roared in his mind. 'This bastard hasn't been around for bloody _weeks_ and _now_ he wants some fucking quality _quiet_ time?' A window pane across the room began to rattle slightly.

"Calm down Harry." Draco told him softly as he turned to face him again.

'Now he's going to order you around? Are you going to take this Potter? No one, orders _you_ around.' Harry knew the voice just wanted him to ruin the friendship with the last good person in his life, but Harry was too deep in his pit of anger to listen to reason.

By now all the windows in the room were rattling and an old text book had just fallen off a desk to their left.

"Harry," Draco said again, softer still, after placing a cold hand on Harry's fist, "please calm down."

The irate boy tensed slightly at the invading touch, but then relaxed when Draco began to sooth him by rubbing his thumb gently on the back of his hand.

"There, that wasn't so hard was it," Draco murmured softly when the windows had finally stopped rattling. "Okay Harry, can you _calmly_ tell me what exactly that was all about. _Calmly,_" he stressed again lightly.

Harry opened his mouth to let out a scathing remark but Draco squeezed his hand first. "And civilly please."

The other boy really had to step back and review the role reversal the two were currently experiencing. Wasn't Draco supposed to be the snarky pistol with a comeback to everyone and everything? And since when was Draco so calm and dare he say, rational?

"Who are you, and what have you done with my Draco?" Harry blurted it out before he even realized what he was saying. Where the hell did the 'my Draco' come from too?! Harry felt as though his head was going to explode.

Instead, Draco merely smiled. "I could ask you the same thing Harry."

The Boy-Who-Lived scratched the side of his nose awkwardly. "You know me; I've been like this since the beginning of school. Nothing's changed."

Draco shook his head but still never removed his had from Harry's. "This isn't you Harry. Not the Harry I knew from this summer. I—" he was cut off suddenly.

"How do you know this isn't the real me? Oh wait, you _wouldn't_ because someone hasn't been _around!_" Harry's temper was flaring again.

Gray eyes shifter to the side. "I had uh, been working on something, something personal."

"Personal huh?" Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes. "So personal you had to skip classes as well? What, did you start your bloody period or something Malfoy?"

A strange sound filled the room. Harry was perplexed when he recognized just how long it had been since he'd heard this particular sound; laughter. Draco was _laughing_, laughing at the stupid comment he'd made. It actually made Harry sit back in his seat, faintly afraid.

Quickly the blond sobered, and without meeting Harry's eyes, replied. "Actually, it was more for you-I guess."

Harry stared at the Slytherin incredulously. For him; what in Merlin's bullocks could Draco have done fore him that would have taken weeks on end? He took a chance to study the blond while he was busy staring at his lap.

A quick glance told him he didn't look any different. He still had his blond hair, tied back in a loose ribbon somewhat reminiscent of his father. His skin was still pale and he still had the same high cheek bones and slightly pointed nose. He was in his pajamas but he also had an expensive looking rob over the silk pajamas. No, Harry couldn't find anything different. Perhaps he had made him a trinket or some sort?

"Did you um, make me something?"

Draco snorted and crossed his arms loosely in front of his chest. Funny, Harry didn't remember Draco's hand ever leaving his. "No Potter, I didn't _make_ you anything." Harry would have thought he was angry if he couldn't hear the amusement behind his tone. The blond turned slightly somber again. "No, it's something of an entirely different magnitude."

Now rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, Harry asked, "Well then, what is it?"

"Patients is a virtue Potter." Draco was stalling and Harry could tell easily.

"My Malfoy, I wouldn't think you knew anything about those silly muggle sayings." Harry responded loftily.

"I'm well rounded." Draco replied, haughtiness creeping back into his voice.

Harry could only giggle.

Rolling his eyes and sneer intact, Draco asked Harry disdainfully, "What are we, five now?"

"That's rich coming from the boy who's sitting here stalling—for no apparent reason." Harry smirked as Draco tensed, but Harry decided to concede to his obviously struggling friend. He took a different tone. "Draco, you know you can still tell me anything."

Shifting lightly in this chair, Draco bit his lip. "It was, well you see, no you know—hm."

"Isn't it good? Shouldn't you be happy to tell me? Unless that is, something went wrong?" Harry couldn't understand the other boy's reluctance to tell him.

"No, no, nothing went wrong per se; actually, everything's great. Better than I've ever been! I'm just not sure about your reaction. . ." Draco explained, eyes shinning with happiness but then switching to doubtful.

"Draco, if you don't tell me _right_ now, I_ swear_ to Merlin I'll—" Harry began.

"I got rid of the dark mark!" Draco blurted out uncharacteristically as he cracked under the pressure.

"—chop your bits off and hang them from the tail-end of my—WHAT?!" It took Harry a moment to register Draco's achievement. "You—I—and then, got rid?" He babbled.

Draco nodded uncertainly but excitedly and breathed out a sigh of relief. But before he could say anything else, Harry had launched himself from his arm chair and straight at Draco. He kneeled down and pulled up the left hand sleeve of Draco's robe roughly, only to find pale unmarred skin. He stroked the skin lightly; no sign of the raised, black mark anywhere. Draco, who had tensed reflexively, tried and failed to suppress a shudder at the feather soft caresses; Harry noticed.

"You-you did this for me?" He queried breathily.

Nodding, Draco lost himself in the touch from the kneeling boy. "Yeah," he answered voice barely above a whisper, "only for you."

"Why?" Harry couldn't help but ask.

"I-I just thought y-you wouldn't want a reminder of anything if we happened to um, well do—whatever." He took to mumbling and turned away again.

Reaching up slowly with his other hand, Harry lightly but with underlying force, turned Draco's face to look at him. "Thank you," he all but mouthed before he closed the distance with a soft, tentative kiss.

Draco sighed contentedly for a moment before his arms shot around Harry's neck and he practically tackled him to the common room floor.

Surprise, stunned, and an utter feeling of 'rightness'; all ways to explain the way Harry was feeling at this very moment. It didn't matter to him how Draco had rid himself of the mark. He had faith that the blond had been safe. What mattered to him, as he fought against Draco's eager tongue for dominance, was how whole he felt. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so complete. It was all around him; he was drowning in it and loving every minute of it. He grinned happily as he elicited a loud moan from Draco.

'Maybe,' he thought to himself, 'given time, I will be alright again. . .'

* * *

End. 


End file.
